The Summer Storm
by MomoOfficial
Summary: In an empty city, before a storm hits, she finds someone. Chelley, some blood and NSFW content.


**Illustrations by Soupengine for this story can be found on Tumblr or on my AO3 account, Momo_Official. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chell was rummaging through an abandoned dumpster when she heard a soft whimpering noise.

She stopped and listened.

After a few minutes, she drew her knife and crouched low to the ground. Chell darted, silent on bare feet, out of the alley and towards the front of the building. A low fog hung over the city, the hot moisture clinging to her like a blanket; it condensed on the shards of glass still hanging on the edges of a broken shop window.

Thunder boomed in the distance. The thing inside the shop cried out.

Chell pressed her back to the brick wall next to the shattered window. She took a deep breath, then leaned over and peered into the dark building.

A lone figure, completely naked and trembling violently, was curled up in the corner. Its back was to her, and she could see the knobs of its spine and its ribs through its pale skin. It looked painfully undernourished.

Chell narrowed her eyes and peered closer. She hadn't encountered anything humanoid since coming to this city. The question of whether or not it was even a person came to her. In the basement of Aperture, she had found inactive android prototypes shoved in an office closet, and their glassy eyes and silicone skin had made her so upset that she had knocked them over and smashed them.

Maybe there had been a live one. Maybe, somehow, one had escaped to the surface.

She crept past the window and opened the door to the shop.

The thing turned, and its blue eyes caught the grey light seeping in from the doorway. Its cheeks were tear-stained.

The thing screamed and backed away from her, shielding his head with his hands. Now that Chell could see his entire body, she noticed bruises and scars. His back hit a stack of boxes in the corner, and he drew his knees up to his chest.

There was a heavy silence in the shop, during which Chell moved slowly towards the thing. When she noticed him breathing steadily, she relaxed and sheathed her knife.

She held out her hand, palm out. "Shhh," she murmured. "Shhhh."

The man whimpered and covered his face, still shaking.

"Shhhh."

Chell tiptoed around the rubble and glass on the floor. He curled up tighter, peeking through his fingers at her as she approached him. The closer she got, the more he seemed to shrink in on himself, until he was almost entirely sphere-shaped. He let out a ragged sob.

She knelt next to him and gently touched his shoulder; he pulled away.

His left leg was lying out at an odd angle. She looked down at it, and, with a grimace, saw a deep gash running across his calf. It was still oozing blood, although most of it had dried over. The wound couldn't have been more than an hour old, by her estimates.

She pulled off her shawl and reached for his leg. He tried in vain to scramble away, but his injured leg made him collapse flat against the floor with a cry of pain. While he was down, she quickly bound his calf, covering up the wound as best she could.

Chell paused in the middle of tying the final knot on the makeshift bandage.

Why was she doing this?

She shook her head and set her jaw. Her fingers deftly finished the knot, and she sat back.

She remembered the stench of burning flesh floating through Aperture's corridors, remembered the realization that test subjects helped fuel the facility from hell. IT'S NOT EFFICIENT, She had said, the smug grin evident in Her voice, even though She had no face with which to smile, BUT IT'S SOMETHING. WE TRY TO MAKE DO HERE. BESIDES, YOU'LL ONLY BE RUINING MY TURRETS, WON'T YOU? YOU DON'T CARE WHAT FUEL THEY USE. YOU ONLY WANT TO KILL THEM YOU MONSTER.

Chell cared far about human life more than She did, and that's why she was helping this poor creature in front of her.

But, she thought as she stood, her legs aching from kneeling, she couldn't waste any more time here. If she could figure out how to feed herself without the need for Nutrient Vapor, this man could figure it out, too. The storm was coming; she had to find food and set out buckets for water. There was no more time to waste here.

She turned and began to walk away.

A feeble hand wrapped around her ankle. She stumbled.

The man had latched onto her, and was now staring up at her with wide eyes. As she stared back, awe and fear crossed his gaunt face, one after the other.

His eyes swiveled to the ground, then up to her.

She took a deep breath, and let it out.

Chell spread her arms, giving the best apologetic look she could, then she shook his hand off and moved toward the broken window.

A few boxes from the back of the store fell. She turned again, drawing her knife this time, but it was only the man; he was standing on shaky, bruised legs. His bandages were already covered in a small amount of blood.

Her eyes widened. She shook her head swiftly and waved her hands in front of her. "Mm-mm."

He moved towards her, his steps slow and clumsy; not a minute passed before he slipped and fell again. Before she could stop herself, Chell darted forward and caught him. The man winced, but didn't fight her, instead seeming to resolve himself to uneasy silence.

Chell sighed heavily and hefted him up, letting him lean against her.

It was a struggle to get him to move with her (he was as gawky on his feet as a newborn foal), but they managed to make their way through the city towards the old parking garage she called home. The sky grew heavy with clouds, threatening a storm but never giving way to rain. The man beside her jumped at every noise, however small, but at least he had stopped crying for the time being; Chell was good with survival, but bad with comfort.

When he tried to run from a clap of thunder, she gently pulled him back by the wrist and kept moving towards her home while he whimpered softly behind her.

* * *

The concrete garage was devoid of cars. Plants crawled out of the cracks in the ceiling; water dripped from a broken pipe near the gate, filling the first floor with a steady plunk plunk plunk. Without the fire normally roaring from her spot in the garage, it was cool and dim inside.

Chell moved the gate out of the way and guided the limping man through. Once he was safely in the garage, she closed it behind her and allowed him to briefly take in the surroundings.

Her home consisted of a small patch of ground against one wall, deep within the garage. A small but thick pile of old clothing, fabric and curtains, all clumped atop a thick mattress, made for a bed. A small, empty fire pit was nearby; next to it lay some packaged food and cooking utensils, as well as a bucket of clean rainwater. There was not much else to speak of, save for a few interesting knick-knacks farther along the wall.

She strode to the bucket of rainwater and picked up a lime-green coffee mug and a dishtowel. The man stood next to her, nervously eyeing the bucket of water.

She filled the mug with water and dipped the dishtowel into it, then made to wipe his face off. He shrunk away, tears filling his eyes.

"Shhh," she said to him, and this seemed to relax him, although he still made soft, protesting murmurs while she cleaned the dirt off of his skin. With an old bar of soap, she even managed to make him smell halfway decent.

Chell rummaged through the clothes on her bed and handed him a too-small shirt and too-short jogging pants. He tugged at the clothing and squirmed.

When she later handed him a cooked piece of meat, he shrank back, his eyes filled with disgust. She rolled her eyes and withdrew her arm; immediately he snatched the food and wolfed it down.

Later, he wretched it up outside and began crying again.

She cleaned him up, sat him down, and forced him to drink water. This he wretched up, too. After that, he turned his back on her and refused to acknowledge her.

She turned to put out the fire. Ultimately, if he didn't want her care, it was not her problem. Unless he was dying, she assumed he would figure it out on his own, or would get over a stomach bug.

In the wee hours of the morning, long after the fire had been put out, she heard him shifting, and in the moonlight she could make out his thin form curling up on the hard ground to sleep.


End file.
